


Vanilla-Mint and Gunpowder

by craple



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Pining, Scenting, excessive uses of lincoln's quote as plot device
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim scents his (quite posible) mate on a Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla-Mint and Gunpowder

**Author's Note:**

> this is a working in progress, since it came up around 22 something pm, and i didn't manage to finish it and got distracted by the glorious porn of katekyou hitman reborn! heh. livejournal is such _heaven_

Cat’s Alley is a one-storey bar located at the centre of Gotham’s most populated point, right below the massive towering building that is Wayne’s Enterprises.

It is barely decorated from the outside, a simple board with ‘Cat’s Alley’ written on the surface as a sign of its existence, while inside it is nothing but a dull place with brown wallpapers and equally boring brown wooden tiles that remind Tim of a Western movie.

There is a theory Steph has forced into their minds that the owner is a fan of cowboy movies. Dick thinks the owner is actually Selina, trying to fuck with Bruce’s mind on regular basis by showing that she owns a store right below his office, which is – much more reasonable than the first theory, honestly.

Mr. Sloan is a kind old man. Around his seventies, instead of having a too fat saggy body or too thin, he has the body that of an athlete. The wrinkles on his face are barely visible even under proper light. He moves around the bar serving food and drinks better than even the most graceful aristocrat, and he banters better than anyone Tim’s ever met. Everything about him screams that he’s younger twenty years than his actual age.

Plus, he makes the _best_ – and Tim is neither exaggerating nor is he kidding here when he says _the best_ – butterscotch in the city. The hot spicy wings he serves every week of the full moon is mind-blowing, the chocolate melt he makes for the aftermath simply _unearthly_.

It’s only normal that the place is always full, despite its lack of appearance, and is the only place everyone agrees to use for their monthly meeting, with of course, the exception of Bruce.

After settling on their usual seats, at their usual table, with four glasses of butterscotch and a basket of curly fries and sausages in front of them, Tim immediately slumps down on his chair, fingers fiddling with the handle of his glass. Barbara looks at him in surprise.

“Is everything okay, Tim?” she asks, kindly, concern written all over her face. Dick and Steph are looking at him, equally worried and stupidly kind, Tim doesn’t know how he manages to get along with them without wanting to leave the country to see the world’s cruelty to remind himself he’s not in a dream.

Taking a deep breath, Tim shakes his head then croaks out a “No”, to which Barbara respond by fussing around him like the overprotective mother-hen they make her out to be.

Steph is bolder in her approach. “What happened?” she asks, and raises the glass to her lips. It’s a subtle sign he’s learned for years that she _cannot_ go through this conversation without being drunk, hence, the drink. Tim honestly can’t blame her for that.

He lifts the glass up to his mouth and downs the rest of his drink in one go. His throat burns, the warmth inside his chest spreading like wildfire, it’s everything he needs.

Wiping the corner of his lips with his sleeve, Tim leans back. And bites at his lip.

Dick grows more impatient as he is concerned by the second.

“There’s a scent,” Tim interjects, before Dick can say anything else. “Uh, I found a scent. On the street, Downtown, last week when Bruce sent me to get more wolfsbane supplies?” at their synchronised nods, Tim snatches Dick’s drink from the other side of the table, drinks it up without stopping. “It is a, a very, very nice scent.”

Barbara looks delighted. “Oh my,” she exclaims. “It is possible that our lovely Tim may or may not have found his mate!” and Dick and Steph blink at the same time, even _tilt_ their heads at the same time, and it’s creepy how Tim does not find this creepy at all.

Steph’s voice is – not exactly calm, as she speaks, but it is composed; devoid of any emotion whatsoever. “Do you want to tell us? Is it true?”

Tim fidgets around a sausage, nibbles at the tip uncertainly in lieu of his nails, the way he used to before ‘The Big Werewolf Therapy’ every Wayne attends once a fortnight. “Well, like I said. Bruce sent me to restock our supplies two weeks ago from Downtown.

“Since Dick was teaching Damian how to drive – despite the little demon not being old enough to do so – Steph is, justifiably, took the fastest car for a business meeting, and Bruce and Barbara happen to have something important outside the city that required cars, the motorcycle was the only thing we had left. So I rode it all the way to Downtown.

“On my way, there was a demonstration preparation by college activists. I think it had something to do with that college kid who was exonerated from rape and got shot, I wasn’t really paying attention. All I knew was that they want justice for – something – but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right? So I parked the bike in one of our safe-houses and walked from there.”

Pausing, Tim lifts his head and offers a smile of gratitude when Mr. Sloan refills their drinks. He leaves a bottle of chilli sauce behind before walking away to another table. Tim swallows the drink greedily, his eyes shining bright blue the moment he’s finished, hint of lengthening fangs glinting behind his parted lips. Another nervous gesture he can’t seem to get rid of.

He doesn’t slump back on his chair anymore, but his posture is resigned and he smells of desperation and pure unadulterated _sadness_ , it’s suffocating the rest of the werewolves at the table.

“I remember getting inside the shop, and I remember paying for it. There was another person there that day, a woman with this beautiful red hair and sparkling green eyes. She says hello to me, all polite. I say hello back.” Tearing a chunk of sausage from the basket, Tim shoves it into his mouth, along with three sauced-curly fries. “I remember someone knocking outside the shop, loud enough for us to hear, even with all the commotion. I didn’t bother to look, but the woman, she told this person to wait, and called him Jason.

“When the old man came back, he brought half of what I ask for and everything the woman wanted. So she left first before me, and when she opened the door – the smell came in, and I, uh.” He stops, snatches Barbara’s unattended drink from her grip while Dick hides his behind the table. Stephanie doesn’t look impressed.

Barbara, the goddess she is, actually looks apologetic and pats Tim between his shoulders gently. “Oh, it’s okay, dear. I’m sure you’ll find each other, if it’s meant to be. I remember the first time I scented my first Beta too. Overwhelming, weak on the knees, right?” she gives a playful wink that Tim does not return with a smile like she expects him too. “I mean, look at Dick. His scent is so delicious he practically turns every omega, beta, and alpha he’s met gay or straight.”

“Jason’s scent is _worse_!” Tim blurts out, doesn’t mean to, and he flushes bright red and buries his face in his arms with a groan of despair. “His scent, it’s so _strong_. I don’t – I don’t think it smells better than Dick’s,”

“Which is a good thing,” Stephanie interjects. “Seeing that your brother is a total slut.” Dick bitch-faces her but doesn’t try to correct.

Tim continues, “But it’s _strong_. I wasn’t – I wasn’t just weak on the knees, I was. Uhm.”

Realisation dawns on them, and they all shift uncomfortably with choruses of ‘Oh’.

Steph clears her throat first. “So, his scent aroused you. That’s – nothing abnormal.”

“Yes well, _no_.” Tim says, sulkily. “His scent, it was vanilla-mint and _gunpowder_ , Steph. A lot of smoke and even _blood_. _God_ , I feel terrible.”

Dick’s brow rises. “Why, because his scent arouses you? Gunpowder and blood aside, it sounds pretty vanilla to me,” says Dick, and he sounds honestly truthful about it.

Except Tim knows him better than that; knows him better under the false innocence, that the ever-slightly pinched look on his face is a sign that he will most definitely research this Jason guy to see whether he is a serial killer or not.

Which, probably isn’t going to be a good idea, because Jason’s – he’s not a serial killer, precisely, but his record is literally blood-stained and so _filthy_ , it’ll make even the worst of the lot cramp their pants in _fear_.

Tim can’t even think what Dick’s response would be, when he sees the list of broken-hearted women Jason’s left behind; stolen diamonds after Jason _charmed_ them to _their beds_.

He’s exceptionally _good_ at that, and Jason’s seen his face and knows that, even though he’s not as pretty as Dick ( _no one_ is going to be prettier than Dick), there is something about Jason that will make him forever much more attractive in the eyes of others than Dick ever will. Tim is kind enough not to say that.

“Yes, but, there is another thing,” he starts, sees Steph rolling her eyes, hears her mutter ‘of course there is’ under her breath, low enough only their hearing can pick it up. Tim’s lips pursed. “I thought – I thought they were married, the woman and Jason, at first, but she wasn’t wearing a ring. The next day I came again to pick up some herbs, and I saw him with another red-head, this time a man.”

And it’s like he’s back to square one once again, when he’s young and he has his first crush on some boy who saved him on the street, who had the same vanilla-mint scent like Jason’s, only sweeter, but not less desirable. All Tim wants to do is curled around himself or shift into a wolf so he can _run_.

“They were, they were kissing on the street, like he did with the woman the day before. I think – I’m _sure_ he’s bisexual, but he doesn’t, he prefers red-head. It’s so obvious.” Tim says, and it’s so – he sounds so _pathetic_ , so out of the image he daily wears in front of others, even _Steph_ looks slightly sorry at him, now.

Dick reaches out to ruffle his hair. “I don’t really know what to say,” he admits, face scrunched up like he hates himself a little, for not knowing. “But like Babs said – if it’s meant to be, it will happen, Timmy, and if it doesn’t, well.” He shrugs, smiles broadly, the usual Dick-like. “There are many fish in the sea.”

“Yes, but still,” Steph forces him to look at her, fingernails digging into his chin, her eyes locking into his. “There is a say, that ‘Lonely men seek companionship. Lonely women sit at home and wait.’ The point is that I am not feminisation-ing you in any way as the woman of the story; but guess what? If one simply waits and does nothing: they never meet.”


End file.
